


Tread Lightly

by wtf_dk



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Copious Amounts of Come, Dubious Consent, First Time, Frottage, M/M, Manhandling, Misuse of everyday objects, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Requited Unrequited Love, Sex Pollen, Size Difference, Size Kink, Unrealistic Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:20:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26333284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wtf_dk/pseuds/wtf_dk
Summary: You know how everyone says to be careful of mushrooms you don't recognize? Yeah. There's reasons.
Relationships: Ashaad/Saemus Dumar
Comments: 12
Kudos: 38
Collections: Black Emporium 2020





	Tread Lightly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hollyand](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollyand/gifts).



They're supposed to be _done_ with this. They were supposed to be done with this three years ago after that near-disaster with the Winters. Marlowe Dumar might not be a particularly good father, and he would probably be just as happy if something unfortunate happened to Ashaad, but he doesn't want Saemus dead and Saemus knows that. Which means he's not supposed to be feeling his way through a cave in Ashaad's wake to avoid getting killed by idiots with more weaponry than sense.

Saemus's foot connects with something soft, and he recoils instinctively, hitting his head on yet another rock made invisible by the darkness. He swears aloud, if quietly, then coughs much less quietly as the cave's dusty air hits the back of his throat. It carries that strange smell he's been catching traces of almost since they snuck in here, strong enough now to coat the inside of his mouth. It doesn't taste any better than it smells.

Something nudges his arm, and he reaches down to take the waterskin Ashaad is offering, smothering another cough as he does so. The water helps, at least, clearing the dust from his throat and the taste from his mouth. It can't do much for his irritation, though.

"I'm going to kill my father," he mutters, mostly joking. Mostly.

"I told you." Ashaad's voice is pitched low to avoid making too much noise. "This is not your father's doing."

"I know," Saemus says, trying not to let himself get distracted. Being alone in the dark with Ashaad is bad enough; being alone in the dark with Ashaad murmuring to him is a hundred times worse. Even if what he's murmuring isn't the least bit seductive.

Think about something else. Anything else. "So who is it?"

"Someone in your Chantr-" Ashaad breaks off with a curse and a grunt, followed by a scrabbling noise at odds with his usual grace.

"Ashaad?" Saemus whispers when the noise has died down. "Where are you?"

"Here," Ashaad says, from significantly closer to the ground than Saemus was expecting. He sounds...embarrassed?

Saemus drops to a crouch and eases forward, feeling along the ground with careful hands. Stepping on Ashaad isn't going to improve anyone's day, or mood. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," Ashaad grunts, his annoyance plain.

Saemus adjusts his course toward the sound of Ashaad's voice, still feeling ahead of himself in the dark. Unfortunately, rather than Ashaad, Saemus's searching hands find what he hopes is mud and not any of the half dozen alternatives his mind helpfully presents. Other things that don't improve his mood: putting his hand in something cold and slimy in a dark cave in the middle of the Wounded Coast. Wonderful.

"We need the lamp," he says firmly. "We're far enough from the entrance, no one will see the light."

He braces for an argument, but Ashaad just sighs in resignation and begins to rummage through his pack. Ready capitulation is so unlike him that Saemus straightens in alarm, staring in the direction of the noises. How badly is Ashaad hurt?

But when the lantern is lit and Saemus has blinked his watering eyes clear, Ashaad looks disgruntled more than pained. He's kneeling on the ground just out of arm's reach--his arm, not Saemus's--already putting away the little pouch that holds flint, striker, and tinder with the deliberately careful movements of someone who knows that throwing things is childish but wants to do it anyway.

Saemus bites back a smile; it's so rare to see Ashaad out of sorts, he can't help but be amused now he knows they're both fine. To give Ashaad a chance to recover a little dignity, Saemus makes a point of adjusting his own small pack, though there isn't much to adjust. Unlike Ashaad, Saemus's only contains a few notebooks, a case containing a handful of reed pens, and a well-cushioned inkhorn. Other than a waterskin of his own, slung over his other shoulder, there's not much he needs when he's only going a few hours outside Kirkwall. If he runs into trouble, he's better off running than fighting, and that means travelling light.

He just wishes it hadn't been necessary today.

"Where are we going, anyway?" he asks. There wasn't time to ask when they were dodging mercenaries, and this is the first time they've paused since shaking off their pursuers. "Couldn't we have stopped closer to the entrance?"

"This tunnel leads into Kirkwall," Ashaad says curtly. "Few people know that it opens onto the coast, and so it should be safe enough."

Given the long stretch of tunnel so narrow Ashaad could only inch along, Saemus can believe that. If he'd been alone, he would have given up long before it widened enough to walk comfortably. It's possibly the only time in their acquaintance he's wished Ashaad wasn't quite so large.

With the lantern lit, Saemus can see that the tunnel has widened further since then. It's ten or so feet across now, more a long, narrow cave than a true tunnel. A trickle of water runs down the center, so small it doesn't make a sound. It's spread across most of the cave floor, and when Saemus looks down, he can see a clear outline of his hand in the mud.

Mud. Just mud, thank Koslun.

Or rather, mostly mud. The broken remains of what appears to be several puffball mushrooms are mixed in, and the lantern light catches a few spores still hanging in the air. It must be what Saemus kicked, right before Ashaad fell, and that's another relief: there's nothing dead and rotting underfoot. Nothing but mud and mushrooms, though the mushrooms appear to be trying to make up for the lack of anything else by spreading all down the center of the cave, following the wandering path of the water and clustering thickly in the wettest spots.

Curiosity satisfied, Saemus turns back to Ashaad, expecting to find him already on his feet and impatient to be on their way. He's just sitting there, though, watching Saemus with an odd expression on his face, surrounded by the broken remains of more mushrooms and a small cloud of spores that haven't yet drifted away. His skin was probably sticky with sweat from the fight, and the spores cling to him now, covering nearly every inch of exposed skin.

Saemus coughs to hide another smile and rises to his feet, now he can be sure he isn't about to crack his head on some low hanging spike of rock.

"We should get going," he says quietly, stepping forward to hold out one hand to Ashaad. Not that Ashaad needs any help getting up, and if he does, Saemus is in trouble: Ashaad is taller, broader, and heavier, all by a significant margin. Something Saemus has appreciated in fantasy, but those fantasies didn't involve having to carry Ashaad anywhere. If anyone was getting carried in those dreams, it was Saemus.

Ashaad blinks at Saemus's outstretched hand long enough to erase any lingering amusement Saemus might be feeling. When Ashaad finally does grab on, it's slowly, each finger curling closed individually.

Hauling him to his feet is exactly as difficult as Saemus thought it would be, even with what help Ashaad is able to give. At least he's steady on his feet once he gets there, though he continues to stare at Saemus with that odd, unreadable expression.

"Come on," Saemus says, trying to slide his hand from Ashaad's, but Ashaad doesn't release him. Saemus pulls again automatically, then inhales sharply in surprise when Ashaad tightens his grip nearly to the point of pain.

Fear and the beginnings of arousal run down Saemus's spine, and he swallows hard.

"We should get going," he says again, but his voice is weak. He wants to make another attempt to free his hand, torn between the hope he succeeds and the hope he doesn't. Ashaad is looming over him in the dim light, so tall and broad that with the lantern behind him, Saemus is entirely in shadow.

"Going," Ashaad echoes slowly. His deep voice rumbles through the darkness, and Saemus locks his knees to keep himself upright. Now is not the time to offer--beg--to suck Ashaad's cock, no matter how much he wants to kneel here in the darkness and let Ashaad talk to him in that voice while his cock fills Saemus's throat.

Saemus licks his lips, and the taste knocks him a little way back to reality. The cloud of spores has dissipated, but that's in part because most of it is now sticking to the two of them. They've stuck to every inch of exposed, sweaty skin, and Saemus's mouth and nose are full of them.

Trying to pull his hand from Ashaad's grip is pointless, so Saemus uses it to turn them in the right direction. "This way." It's supposed to sound determined and purposeful, but it comes out a hoarse whisper.

The lantern is on the ground where Ashaad left it, and Saemus bends over to pick it up, unsurprised when Ashaad's grip on his other hand tightens again. The urge to pull harder, to feel Ashaad's strength overwhelming his own, leaves Saemus breathless, but he manages not to give in to the temptation. Something is definitely wrong with Ashaad, and Saemus needs to figure out what it is before he does anything irrevocable.

That gets more and more difficult to remember with every step. Saemus is still sweating, even though the cave is cool and simply walking shouldn't be anywhere near strenuous. There's no reason for him to feel like his skin is on fire, or to be breathing like he's run all the way from Kirkwall.

Ashaad isn't helping: his thumb rubs across the back of Saemus's hand in slow, forceful arcs, sometimes painfully hard. Every movement, whether it hurts or not, makes Saemus sweat a little more and makes breathing a little more difficult. His cock is hard, never mind that there should be nothing arousing about being muddy and sweaty and covered in bits of mushroom.

The tunnel widens into a cave proper, and as the lantern illuminates it, Saemus stops abruptly. Someone lives down here.

Or...not lives, not unless they don't eat, but certainly someone comes down here often enough to spend the effort to furnish the place with a stool and a rough table. Even if the table is little more than warped boards laid over the broken-off tops of a few rock spears that formed close together. No one carries boards down into a cave just because they felt like it. The same is true of baskets and blankets, and Saemus can see a pile of each as he gets closer to the table, dragging an unresisting Ashaad with him.

The stool looks sturdy enough to hold Ashaad's weight, so Saemus pushes him down onto it and finally manages to extract his hand by promising, "I'll be right here, I just need some water."

His throat is dry, from panting or thirst or the mushrooms he doesn't know, and the cool water is such a relief it distracts him from his hard cock for a few breaths. Then Ashaad runs a finger down his throat, and Saemus inhales the water instead of swallowing it.

When he gets the coughing under control, Ashaad is still watching him, but at least his hands are clasped tightly together in his lap and no longer a hazard to Saemus's ability to breathe. Never mind the part of Saemus that doesn't care, that wants nothing except Ashaad's hands. Unless it's Ashaad's mouth or his cock. Just...Ashaad. Naked, breathless, groaning as he comes in Saemus's mouth, on his stomach, in-

Saemus takes another gulp of water and tries to shake off those images. His ability to think is rapidly losing ground to a want so intense it doesn't feel real, and he braces his hands on the edge of the rickety table as he tries to get back in control.

Ashaad's hand strokes up his back, hot even through Saemus's clothes, and Saemus whimpers. The wanting swamps everything else, and when Ashaad's hand grips the back of his neck, he doesn't fight it. He lets Ashaad turn him around so they're facing each other, the difference in their height negligible with Ashaad seated on the stool.

Other differences haven't changed, and Saemus is very aware of the breadth of Ashaad's shoulders and the muscles moving under his skin. That the two of them are currently eye-to-eye doesn't make him feel any bigger compared to Ashaad, or any less fragile. He doesn't even want to. Instead, he puts his hands on Ashaad's chest to feel the muscles flex.

The hand on the back of his neck pulls him closer, and Saemus moves with it, everything else forgotten in his eagerness. His hands slide up Ashaad's neck to his cheeks, a touch he's never been allowed no matter how many times he's wanted it. He's never wanted it as much as he wants it now, though, like he might actually die if he can't have his skin against Ashaad's.

Something flickers in Ashaad's eyes, and for a moment, his gaze sharpens. He still looks dazed, but he's clawing his way free of whatever it is that's had hold of him, and all Saemus can think is that once Ashaad does, this will end, and end forever. The thought is unbearable, and he closes the last few inches between them in a rush to press his mouth to Ashaad's.

No response except Ashaad going completely still. Saemus licks at Ashaad's lips, trying to deepen the kiss, heedless of the small, desperate sounds he's making. Ashaad hasn't moved, either to push Saemus away or pull him closer, and Saemus prays silently to anyone who will listen--Koslun or Andraste or the Maker--to give him this. It's all he wants, just this, just Ashaad, just let Ashaad want this even half as much as Saemus does. Saemus can convince him, given the chance.

Convince him. Yes. That's what he needs to do. He needs to convince Ashaad how good it will be, if he'll let Saemus show him.

Saemus breaks the kiss to go to his knees, his hands already fumbling for the laces of Ashaad's trousers, but the ground isn't where he left it. Nothing is, because everything is spinning around, until his back crashes into something and it all stops.

The collision knocks the wind out of him, or maybe that's Ashaad's weight pinning him to the ground. Either way, Saemus doesn't care. Breathing is secondary to returning Ashaad's hungry kiss and running his hands over every inch of skin he can reach. Ashaad's typical half-dressed state normally drives Saemus crazy, but he's happy to take advantage of it now.

Ashaad pulls away, pinning Saemus with one hand when Saemus tries to sit up to follow his mouth. The casual display of strength makes Saemus groan, and his hips rock as he tries unsuccessfully to grind against Ashaad's thigh.

"Please," he gasps out, straining against Ashaad's hand just to make Ashaad push him down to the ground again.

"Stay still," Ashaad growls, his voice lower than Saemus has ever heard it. The rest of what he says is in Qunlat, but it sounds like he's swearing, and viciously. His free hand is tugging at Saemus's tunic, jerking it this way and that like it's offended him, every movement so forceful it moves Saemus's entire body.

Saemus whines Ashaad's name, and Ashaad spits out another curse. His black eyes meet Saemus's, looking as wild as Saemus feels, and he snarls, "Off. Now."

The order makes no sense--Ashaad is on top of him, not the other way around--until Ashaad releases the tunic to shove his hand under it, searching blindly until he finds the laces of Saemus's trousers and begins to untie them. Understanding dawns, and Saemus takes up where Ashaad left off, struggling gracelessly with tunic and shirt. That Ashaad still has a hand in the center of his chest doesn't help, though it takes his muddled brain a while to realize what the problem is.

"Let me up," Saemus says, shoving in earnest at the hand pinning him. "Can't like this."

Ashaad pushes harder for a moment, then the words seem to get through to him and he releases Saemus. It gives him both hands free to work on Saemus's boots and trousers, and in moments Saemus is naked, sprawled out half on the bare ground and half on top of his clothes.

Before Ashaad has a chance to do anything else, Saemus scrambles to his knees to resume his own interrupted attempt on Ashaad's laces. He's only just started when Ashaad grabs his face and tilts his head back to kiss him again. It's rough and filthy, not so much demanding as simply taking, Ashaad's tongue fucking his mouth while his hands hold Saemus in place. Ashaad is so tall the position hurts Saemus's neck, but he's only distantly aware of the pain, too focused on getting Ashaad's trousers open.

Then the last knot unravels, and Saemus can finally wrap his hand around Ashaad's cock. It's thick and long, the tip wet, and Saemus groans into the kiss. He wants to pull away now, not because of the ache in his neck but because he wants to put his mouth somewhere else.

His uncoordinated attempt to break the kiss makes Ashaad tighten his grip, one hand sliding from Saemus's cheek to the back of his head. Claws scratch lightly over his scalp as Ashaad grabs a fistful of his hair, pulling hard enough to sting. Saemus gasps in surprise, and Ashaad's tongue fucks deeper into his mouth, crushing his lips against his teeth.

There's another of those disorienting moments where Saemus doesn't know which way is up, and it ends the same as the last one, with Saemus flat on his back and Ashaad above him. Ashaad's trousers are hanging open, his cock looking even larger than it felt in Saemus's hands.

Saemus has no time for more than a glance: Ashaad is on top of him again, weight pinning him. Clawed hands push his thighs apart, so wide that the muscles at his groin strain against the pressure. Ashaad's hips settle between Saemus's spread legs, holding them open and leaving Ashaad free to brace his forearms on the ground on either side of Saemus's head.

The difference in their heights is too much for them to kiss in this position. If Saemus stretches, he can lick along Ashaad's collarbone and the hollow at the base of his throat, tasting sweat and the odd, dusty taste of the mushrooms. Somewhere in the back of his head, a voice tries to warn him, but he's too far gone to care. He wants to lick every inch of Ashaad, and the unpleasant taste of the mushrooms is a small price to pay to get that.

Ashaad buries his face in Saemus's hair, panting harshly. His braced arms take enough of his weight that Saemus can breathe, at least until Ashaad grinds down, rubbing their cocks together. Short, sharp breaths are all Saemus can manage then, but that has more to do with the ache in his cock than Ashaad's weight. He wants more of that weight, more of everything, and he wraps his legs around Ashaad as best he can, his heels digging in to Ashaad's thighs.

Ashaad growls something in Qunlat, a demand or an order by his tone. In other circumstances, Saemus might be able to translate the words, but now? When Ashaad's hips are rocking faster and faster, their cocks rubbing together with every thrust? Saemus might as well have never heard the language before in his life.

"Please," he gasps anyway. The specifics don't matter. Ashaad can have whatever he wants. "Yes, anything, please!"

He wraps his arms around as much of Ashaad as he can reach, arching up to meet him, gasping open-mouthed into the hollow of his shoulder, needing...needing...

Ashaad says something else, a single sharp word, before he comes with a jerk, spending all over both of them. It's hot and slick, and when Saemus rocks his hips, his cock slides easily in the tight space between their bodies. Every muscle in Ashaad's body is locked tight, and it curls him even further around Saemus. There's nothing in the world except him, no taste or touch or sound that isn't Ashaad, and all it takes is one more thrust to push Saemus over the edge.

When the world returns, it only returns halfway. Saemus is still dazed and shaking, unable to think and only really aware of Ashaad's limp weight on top of him, the heat of his body and the lazy slide of his cock as his hips move in slow arcs. Most of Ashaad's weight is on one arm now, freeing his other hand to stroke down Saemus's ribs and over his hip to wrap around his thigh. Claws prick Saemus's skin as Ashaad pulls him closer, so close it's almost too much pressure against his cock, but Saemus groans anyway, sucking and licking at any skin he can reach.

"Kadan," Ashaad murmurs.

Language is still a puzzle that isn't worth solving, but the word is plainly an endearment, Ashaad's tone underscored by the way he nuzzles at Saemus's hair. It warms Saemus, and he spreads his fingers wide to get a better grip on Ashaad's back and pull them that small fraction of an inch closer together. His cock shows no sign of flagging, and Ashaad's is as hard as ever, pushing slowly in and out of the tight space between them, made slick with sweat and come. Just the feel of it against his belly transforms warmth into heat.

He's in no hurry, though, not anymore. The overpowering need from before is quieter; not gone and only a little reduced, but willing to wait, as if the knowledge that he can have more soon is enough to soothe the need to have it _now_. He can explore Ashaad's back with his hands, the muscles shifting and rippling under his fingers as Ashaad rolls his hips, and he can explore Ashaad's chest with his mouth, tasting sweat and the dustiness of the mushrooms, a dustiness that no longer seems so unpleasant.

All the while, Ashaad keeps them pressed tightly together, his face buried in Saemus's hair and his breath warm. His hand moves idly on Saemus's leg, firm strokes from his ass to the hollow behind his knee and then back up again. The light scratch of claws against the delicate skin on the inside of his thigh is a reminder of how vulnerable he is, and Saemus revels in it.

It leaves him all the more disoriented when Ashaad releases him and pulls away. Saemus tries to hold on, wrapping arms and legs tighter, but Ashaad disentangles himself with no apparent effort.

"Kost," Ashaad says, and then, when Saemus reaches for him, "Parshaara."

After a moment's thought, Saemus recognizes the last word: enough. But it isn't enough. It isn't nearly enough, and the longer he goes without Ashaad's weight on top of him, the more anxious he is to have it back.

His limbs feel like they aren't all connected to each other, but Saemus manages to get to his knees so he can reach for Ashaad again. "Please," he begs, running a hand up Ashaad's arm. "Lie back down with me, please, I don't want to stop."

"Kost," Ashaad says gently, but Saemus still doesn't know the word. "Maraas kata."

"I don't understand," Saemus says, moving closer despite the sharp pebbles under his knees. Ashaad's skin feels so good under his hand; how much better will it feel under his mouth?

Something bumps into his chest, and Saemus looks down, confused. The sight of Ashaad's waterskin does nothing to reduce his confusion, and it isn't until Ashaad pushes at him with it that he takes it. He drinks out of habit, but as soon as the water reaches his mouth, he's desperate for it, his mouth as dry as if he hasn't drunk anything all day.

When he lowers the waterskin at last, Ashaad has moved away again, back toward the makeshift table and his pack, still sitting where they abandoned it on the ground earlier. Worse, he's standing like he means to leave. Saemus closes the waterskin hastily and scrambles after him, panic threatening.

"Ashaad," he says, then stops, because he can't think through the fog clouding his mind. The wanting is back, sharp and vicious and demanding, and words are a distant, abstract illusion in the face of it.

He looks up, intending to beg with his eyes if it's the only option left to him, but as his gaze travels up the length of Ashaad's body, he gets distracted. Ashaad's cock is still hard, and his stomach is still smeared with come, and looking at both makes Saemus want so badly it's almost a need.

Ashaad doesn't stop him as he moves closer, or when he begins to lick up the mess. The taste isn't what Saemus was expecting, though he's not sure why he had any expectations at all. His entire experience with sex before today was a little awkward fumbling in dark corners, fumbling that never made it beyond the occasional untucked shirt. Every time, his thoughts had been on Ashaad rather than the person he was with, and after a half dozen attempts, he'd abandoned the effort. If he was going to fantasize about Ashaad, he could do that in the privacy of his bedroom, where he didn't need to worry about whose name slipped out in the heat of the moment.

The flesh-and-blood Ashaad combs the fingers of one hand through his hair, and Saemus nearly purrs. Ashaad's other hand rests on the table, claws digging divots into the wood, deeper with every movement of Saemus's tongue. That barely-controlled violence is a stark contrast to the gentleness of his other hand, and Saemus steals glances from the corner of his eye whenever he can, needing to see the damage Ashaad's claws are inflicting on the table. Wanting the reminder of how dangerous Ashaad could be, if he wanted.

In between those glances, Saemus works his way across Ashaad's stomach, indiscriminately licking away come and the dust left behind by the mushrooms. The taste is odd rather than unpleasant now, and if it gives him the chance to taste Ashaad's skin, it's a small price to pay. Saemus is greedy for whatever he can get, his hands moving restlessly over Ashaad's legs and ass and back as his mouth moves with more purpose over Ashaad's stomach.

Before Saemus can finish cleaning Ashaad up, the hand in his hair flexes and becomes a fist. Ashaad leaves off destroying the table to curl that hand around the back of Saemus's neck, using both to push Saemus's mouth in the direction of his cock. It isn't abrupt or painful, but it is inexorable.

Saemus moves with it eagerly, wrapping both hands around Ashaad's cock to guide it to his mouth. As soon as he does, the pressure eases off, Ashaad's hands cradling his head rather than trying to control it. The hand on the back of Saemus's neck kneads at the muscles with enough force to make them ache wonderfully, and Saemus is torn for a moment between pushing back into that pressure or leaning forward to see how much of Ashaad's cock he can take before he has to stop.

Ashaad makes the decision for him, pushing harder on the back of his neck until Saemus's lips touch the head of his cock. Saemus licks the slit but doesn't otherwise move, letting Ashaad force his mouth down and down. Even with Saemus's stacked fists circling Ashaad's cock, there's enough to fill his mouth before his lips meet his hand.

They stay like that a moment, Ashaad's hand heavy on the back of Saemus's neck, Saemus's lips stretched wide and his tongue rubbing along the underside of Ashaad's cock. Then Ashaad eases his grip again, and this time, Saemus gives him what he wants.

In other circumstances, Saemus might feel nervous or self-conscious about his lack of experience, but not now. The wanting is too intense, and anything that isn't Ashaad burns away in its heat. All Saemus cares about is the way Ashaad strokes his hair and murmurs to him in that low, approving voice. Saemus doesn't need to understand the words to understand _yes_ and _more_ and _like that_. Soon there aren't even words to try to understand, just Ashaad groaning and gasping as Saemus works his cock with mouth and hands.

Ashaad grunts, a harsh sound like someone punched him, then his hips jerk and he comes, filling Saemus's mouth. Caught by surprise, Saemus can't swallow fast enough and has to let some of it run down his hands as Ashaad spends in his mouth again and again. It drips down his arms and down Ashaad's thighs, and still Ashaad's cock is pulsing against his tongue, more of it escaping no matter how frantically Saemus swallows.

With a long, shuddering breath, Ashaad relaxes. He pushes his cock slowly in and out between Saemus's hands, and Saemus sucks him eagerly through the receding waves, swallowing the last few drops that land on his tongue. He doesn't stop until Ashaad grips his hair and pulls him off using the same steady pressure as before: not hurting, but not taking no for an answer, either.

"Parshaara," Ashaad says breathlessly. "Ebasit parshaara."

Saemus sits back on his heels and stares up, pleased despite his own labored breathing. Ashaad is more of a mess than he was when Saemus started, and Saemus licks his lips unconsciously, wanting to lean forward to begin again.

Before he can, he's hauled unceremoniously to his feet and off them, Ashaad grabbing his thighs to lift him high enough their mouths meet. He's more than strong enough to hold Saemus's weight, but Saemus loops both arms around his neck anyway. The kiss is rough and messy, Ashaad's tongue pushing into his mouth while Saemus tries to rub his cock against Ashaad's stomach. It won't take much to make him come, but he can't get the angle right and there isn't enough room between their bodies for him to get a hand around himself.

Shaking with the need for release, he squirms in Ashaad's grip only to whimper in helpless frustration when it accomplishes nothing. Ashaad is so much stronger, he doesn't even seem to notice the attempt until Saemus digs both heels into his back in hopes of changing the angle. When he does notice, his first reaction is to tighten his grip to hold Saemus in place, and Saemus clutches at his horns and hair, pleading wordlessly.

Ashaad drops him.

Or at least, that's what it feels like in the first startled moment after Ashaad's hands release him. Except there's no sensation of falling, and even if there was, Saemus wouldn't care, because Ashaad's back arches to make room for him to wrap one huge hand around Saemus's cock, and Saemus's head falls back as he comes all over both of them.

Ashaad's hand doesn't stop moving, even after Saemus slumps against him. It's too much, but rather than protest, Saemus buries his face in the curve of Ashaad's neck to suck at the skin there. Ashaad makes a satisfied sound and continues to stroke, curling his other arm around Saemus's back to hold him close

This time, Saemus is aware enough to notice their position changing, but he's too uncoordinated to hold on when Ashaad moves away. He grabs for anything he can reach, not soothed in the least by Ashaad's murmured, "Kost, maraas kata, kost."

Too worn out to fight him but too aroused to relax, Saemus drifts in a haze of mingled satisfaction and restless need. He can hear Ashaad moving around near at hand, digging through both their packs, though it's a mystery what he might want from Saemus's. Ashaad is the one who treats a trip to the Wounded Coast like an expedition into enemy territory. Which, all right, is what it turns out to be more often than Saemus would like.

After a while, even the small satisfaction Saemus felt is gone, leaving only need behind. He begins to stroke himself, his hand picking up speed quickly, but when he comes, it's not in the least bit satisfying. Afterward, the slickness on his hand is the only real difference. The need is worse now, as if the knowledge of how good he should feel makes it that much stronger, so that he's shaking with it despite having come so many times. Somewhere in the depths of his brain, he knows trying again won't help, but he can't stop himself when there's so much pent up heat trying to burn its way out through his skin.

A hand shoves his aside, startling him into opening his eyes just as Ashaad's other hand grabs his hip and flips him onto his stomach. Onto his stomach, and onto something unexpectedly soft. With the lantern on the table above them, there are too many shadows down here for Saemus to make out the details of what he's lying on, but the smell gives it away: Ashaad's bedroll, laid over top of something else--their discarded clothes, perhaps--to further cushion the rocky ground.

Ashaad tries to rearrange him, and they struggle briefly, more because Saemus doesn't know what Ashaad wants than out of any desire to put up a fight. He's no longer interested in being forced to do anything: all he wants is for Ashaad to touch him.

The wrestling match ends with Saemus facedown and ass in the air, Ashaad's hand in the small of his back ready to hold him down if necessary. Ashaad is behind him, and when something slides between the cheeks of his ass to press against his hole, Saemus assumes at first it's the head of Ashaad's cock. The lingering traces of his sanity shout a horrified protest at the thought of how much it will hurt, but Saemus is beyond caring. Whatever will result in the most amount of skin contact is what he wants, regardless of the consequences.

Except that what pushes into him is too small to be Ashaad's cock. Saemus has never been fucked before, but he's fingered himself a few times, and he can make at least a guess as to what Ashaad's cock would feel like. Whatever Ashaad is fucking him with, it's large enough to sting a little as it stretches Saemus open, but it doesn't hurt, not really.

Ashaad's hand on his back tenses to hold him down, which is the first Saemus realizes he tried to sit up. It's a futile effort, but he struggles anyway and nearly ends up flat on his stomach again, Ashaad pushing with enough force Saemus's knees slip a little wider. Saemus whines an inarticulate protest, reaching blindly behind himself for any part of Ashaad he can reach.

His protesting whine becomes a groan halfway through: Ashaad tilts the thing fucking him, pushing it deeper at the same time, and Saemus hadn't known it was possible to be more desperate than he already was. He hadn't realized the angle mattered so much, and his fingers certainly had never found the spot Ashaad is teasing now. The intensity of it rivals the need to have more of Ashaad's skin against his, at least for a moment.

Without conscious thought, Saemus reaches back to spread the cheeks of his ass apart and hold himself open, but Ashaad pulls one of his hands away to smear something slick all over it. His fingers are dripping with it when Ashaad wraps them around...something. Holding it doesn't give Saemus a better idea of what it is, especially not when he has to concentrate on not letting it slip out of his grasp.

He doesn't understand why Ashaad would want to make this more difficult, until he realizes he can push his fingers in alongside the thing he's holding. Ashaad slicked Saemus's hand so he could fuck himself, not because he wanted to see Saemus struggle.

And oh, the way his hole burns as he works his fingers into himself has him panting open-mouthed against the bedroll. He doesn't bother to go slowly or ease them in. He wants the stretch, and he wants to stay at the point where it's almost too much, chasing that edge as it retreats.

Ashaad bends forward over top of him, planting one hand on the ground beside Saemus's head while the other cups his ass to help hold him open. Claws dig in, not quite hard enough to hurt, and Saemus pushes back into them, fucking himself deeper at the same time. He wants more of everything, more of anything, so long as Ashaad is the one doing it.

The hand on his ass disappears, and Saemus whines, wanting it back. He can't see, and what he can hear makes no sense, and what if Ashaad is about to abandon him completely? His other hand is still beside Saemus's head, and his weight is still half resting on Saemus, but maybe he's even now getting ready to sit up, stand up, walk away.

Those fears seem justified a moment later: Ashaad arches his back, his chest no longer pressing down on Saemus.

It's enough to help Saemus find a few words, and he gasps out, "No, don't!"

Ashaad freezes, his body trembling with the effort. After a tense pause, he asks something in Qunlat, the words as slow as if they're being dragged out of him.

Since Saemus can only barely remember how to speak, let alone how to speak Qunlat, he ignores the question. "Please," he says. "Please don't go."

It gets no reaction, good or bad. Ashaad doesn't get up, but he also doesn't let his weight rest on Saemus again.

"Fuck me," Saemus tries, frantic now. "Please fuck me, please, I can't...I need..." There are too many things he needs right now, and he can't articulate any of them except one. "I need you." He fucks himself deeper, half because he wants so desperately and half to underscore the words. "Please."

Ashaad's hand wraps around Saemus's wrist, so large it covers half his forearm, and pulls his fingers out, leaving him feeling empty and unpleasantly loose. If Ashaad even notices Saemus's attempt to resist, it doesn't slow him down, and neither does any of the mostly-incoherent begging Saemus tries. Ashaad has both strength and leverage on his side, and the two together leave Saemus helpless to stop him.

"Please," Saemus tries, one last time. "Please fuck me."

"Na'thek," Ashaad says.

This time, Saemus doesn't need a translation, because Ashaad's cock is pressing against his hole, and that's all the answer he needs. He sobs in relief and tries to rock back to get more, faster, but Ashaad's hand grabs his hips and holds him still.

At least Ashaad doesn't make him wait, and Saemus stops breathing as the head of his cock pushes in. If he thought it felt large in his mouth, that's nothing to how it feels now. That earlier looseness is gone, his hole as tight as when he first slid a finger inside, and it's still stretching wider. The head of Ashaad's cock forces him slowly open, so slowly Saemus's sense of self-preservation is only barely able to stop him from pushing back.

When the flared edge is finally all the way inside, Saemus takes a deep, shuddering breath. He doesn't think his body could have stretched any further, but as it is, Ashaad's cock is so thick it has Saemus hovering on the same edge he was chasing before. The difference is, he had some small measure of control over how much and how fast he forced himself open; he has almost none over Ashaad, and the knowledge is exhilarating.

Ashaad hasn't sped up or slowed down, his cock pushing deeper inch by inch. It's slick with something, slick enough skin never catches or pulls, but the shaft also thickens along its length. Saemus pants shallowly, aware of how the line between enough and too much is narrowing, and the narrower it gets, the more he wants. He wants to know where the edge really is, if it's even possible to find it.

Maybe it isn't, not like this: the shaft of Ashaad's cock isn't thickening anymore, and without that, Saemus's body is beginning to adapt. It would be more of a disappointment if he didn't already feel stuffed full. Ashaad has to be nearly all the way inside him for him to feel like this, and Saemus waits eagerly for Ashaad's hips to grind up against his ass.

Except there is still more, and then more after that. Every time Saemus thinks he must have taken all of Ashaad's cock, he learns in the next breath that he hasn't. He stops wondering if his body can stretch wide enough and starts wondering if it can take the entire length. How much can he take before that feeling of fullness becomes painful? It's another edge to find, that point where his body can't take any more, and Saemus chases it every bit as eagerly.

And then Ashaad lets out a long breath and bends forward again. His weight settles against Saemus's back just as his hips settle against Saemus's ass, and Saemus forgets how to breathe. Ashaad's cock feels impossibly huge inside him, filling him so completely one breath is all it will take to push him over that edge into pain. His hole still aches from being stretched open so wide, and the two together are so intense that Saemus shakes with it, his balls tight and his skin hot, all of it building and building until it's too much in a different way, and he comes.

When Saemus is capable of noticing anything, the first thing he notices is that one of Ashaad's arms is around his chest. It keeps him pressed to Ashaad's chest as Ashaad fucks him in quick, shallow thrusts, which is exactly where Saemus wants to be. He wraps his own arms around Ashaad's as best he can and clings to it like he might float away without that anchor.

Ashaad buries his face in Saemus's hair, and the harsh sound of his breathing makes Saemus cling tighter to his arm. His own cock is still as hard as Ashaad's, and he wonders dizzily if it's possible to come twice so close together. He feels like he's already sliding toward that edge again, and every thrust of Ashaad's cock is pushing him toward it faster.

Ashaad groans, louder than Saemus has ever heard him, and squeezes Saemus tighter to him as he comes. The heat of it startles Saemus for all of a blink before he's coming, his whole body jerking in spasms that leave him aching and limp.

But hungry for more, as if he hasn't already come multiple times in the last hour. Ashaad must feel the same: his hips are moving slowly but they are moving, leisurely thrusts that drag his cock halfway out before driving it deep again. He holds Saemus's limp weight as if it were nothing, and Saemus is happy to let him. The hunger is strong enough now that it's drowning out any other thoughts, reducing Saemus to mindless need and animal instinct. All that matters is Ashaad's cock, and the waves of heat that flood Saemus whenever Ashaad comes.

Counting is as far beyond Saemus as any other thought, so he doesn't know how many times either of them has come when Ashaad's thrusts slow to a stop. They're both dripping sweat and come, their gasping breaths in perfect sync, Ashaad's arm still around Saemus's chest. Saemus isn't ready to be done, but he's content to wait a little while.

Ashaad murmurs a question to him in Qunlat, his voice thick with satisfaction, and Saemus hums pleased agreement without knowing--or caring--what he's agreeing to. That isn't the voice of someone trying to call a halt to anything, and beyond that, Saemus doesn't care.

Even when Ashaad sits abruptly upright, dragging Saemus with him to straddle his lap, Saemus isn't startled, or concerned. With Ashaad's arm around him, he's in no danger of falling, and the change in the angle of Ashaad's cock is intriguing. The hand Ashaad wraps around his cock is equally intriguing, and Saemus lets his head fall back against Ashaad's shoulder as Ashaad begins to fuck him in tight little thrusts.

They stay like that a while, Ashaad stroking him and fucking him together, when he isn't recovering and pushing his fingers into Saemus's mouth for him to suck them clean. Somewhere along the way, Ashaad lifts him bodily up and turns him around so they're face-to-face. Saemus puts his arms around Ashaad's neck, holding on while Ashaad does...something. It involves a bottle Saemus doesn't get a good look at, but he doesn't make much of an effort; by the time he's noticed the bottle, Ashaad is nearly done, and then Saemus is being lowered back down onto Ashaad's cock. He barely feels a stretch, and the fullness that felt impossible the first time feels exactly right this time.

Ashaad gets both hands under his ass and lifts him up a few inches before dragging him back down, then does it again, and again. He picks up speed with every thrust, until he's fucking Saemus in long, hard strokes with no indication he's moving the weight of a full-grown man each time. Saemus has to keep his arms around Ashaad's neck to keep himself upright, but the constant reminder of Ashaad's strength and the change in the angle of Ashaad's cock are more than worth it.

It's easy to lose himself in this new rhythm, to hold on while Ashaad uses his body the way Saemus would use his hand. The way Saemus does use his hand to stroke his own cock, letting the flood of heat as Ashaad spends inside him push him over the edge every time. He comes across Ashaad's chest and stomach so often they're both slick with it, and in between, while Saemus is still shaking and the heat of Ashaad's seed is still spreading through him, Ashaad kisses him. The kisses are never gentle: Ashaad's tongue fucks his mouth, tasting and taking, while one hand grips the back of Saemus's neck and holds his head where Ashaad wants it.

If it's where Ashaad wants it, then it's where Saemus wants it, and he returns every kiss eagerly.

Eventually even Ashaad's strength wears itself out, and Ashaad lowers him carefully to the bedroll, on his back this time. Saemus watches out of half-focused eyes as Ashaad picks up a small bottle to pour something onto his hands, and this time, Saemus recognizes the bottle containing the extra oil for the lamp. Nearly empty, now, but Saemus notes that without actually caring.

Ashaad stretches out on top of him, almost the same position they started in except that Ashaad's cock is deep inside him now. Saemus wraps arms and legs around him, holding on tightly as Ashaad fucks him slowly, so slowly Saemus can appreciate every inch of his cock as it slides in and out. The chill of the ground seeps through the bedroll and padding beneath it, a welcome counter to Ashaad's heat, and Saemus sinks willingly into both.

###

Saemus wakes up naked and cold and covered in mud, in a place he doesn't recognize, to a voice he doesn't know.

Alarmed, he opens his eyes and tries to sit up, only to groan in pain as every muscle in his body screams in agony. The inside of his head feels like Lowtown after a riot, and he can't find a memory of anything that would have left him feeling like this. There was the meandering trip through Kirkwall to lose the guards his father always tried to have trail him, and then the walk along the Wounded Coast to the usual place he and Ashaad met, and then...and then...

A scrap of memory returns: an ambush, and Ashaad in the middle of it. Running, and more running, Ashaad moving like he had an actual destination in mind and Saemus following in blind faith. Then a crack in a cliff face that was actually the entrance to a cave, and a long walk in the darkness, and then...nothing.

"Well," someone says from above him, "I see you're finally awake."

Saemus squints but can't make out many details of the man standing over him. "What?" he croaks out, wincing at the ache in his throat.

"You're awake," the man says, enunciating like he's talking to an idiot. He offers Saemus a waterskin and adds, "Here. Drink this."

"What is it?" Saemus asks suspiciously, because he might feel like utter shit, but he doesn't know who this man is or where they are.

The man barks out a laugh and drops the waterskin in his lap. "A little late for caution, don't you think? Drink it or not, I don't care, but it's only water."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Saemus asks. This time when he tries to sit up, he's ready for the protest from his muscles, and he ignores it.

"It means you should drink," the man says. By his tone, he's being deliberately obtuse.

Frowning, Saemus picks up the waterskin and pulls out the stopper. It smells like water, and his first cautious sip doesn't reveal anything except that he's so thirsty, it turns out he doesn't care if it's poisoned. He drains it dry without pausing for breath.

But once the water is gone, he demands, "Why is it too late for caution?"

"I'll let your 'friend' explain," the man says with a leer, pointing past Saemus. "I'm sure he can't wait."

Saemus tries to keep one eye on the man while also looking in the indicated direction, but he forgets all about that as soon as he sees who the man was pointing at.

Ashaad stands half a dozen feet away, arms folded over his chest and face expressionless. He's never been the most expressive person, but he's currently elevating blankness to an artform. And at the sight of it, the rest of Saemus's memories crash down on him.

It turns out that no amount of embarrassment is actually fatal, because if the mortification currently choking Saemus hasn't killed him, then it's impossible for any smaller embarrassment to do it. Memories parade in front of his mind's eye, and once all of them have gone by, the most humiliating return to show him again all the worst things he said and did.

"Ah, memory returning, I see," the man says. Saemus can hear the smirk, but anger pales beside the horrified realization that's followed the memories.

Ashaad will never want to see him again. Years of friendship, and yes, Saemus wanted more, but he didn't want it like this.

"I should make you pay for what you broke."

Saemus tears his gaze away from Ashaad's blank face to stare at the man in confusion. "What I broke?"

"All this," the man says, waving at the ground. "You wrecked most of a perfectly good crop."

After a moment, Saemus refocuses his eyes. The man isn't waving at the ground; he's waving at the broken and scattered mushrooms everywhere around Saemus.

Several more things fall into place, and Saemus gives the man an incredulous look. "You _sell_ these things?"

"I sell things made from these things," the man says patronizingly. "And if you didn't know what they were, it's not my fault you didn't have the sense to avoid strange mushrooms. You've cost me-"

"Leave."

Saemus and the man both turn to blink at Ashaad, who stares them down without the slightest trace of emotion.

"Leave," Ashaad says again, his eyes flicking to the man to make it clear who he means.

"This is my stock!" the man huffs. "You can't just tell me to leave!"

Ashaad takes a single step forward. There's nothing overtly threatening about it, and his expression doesn't change, but the man swallows hard.

"I'll be back later," he snaps. "And just be glad I don't send the guard after you for destroying my property." It would sound more threatening if he wasn't retreating from Ashaad as he says it.

When he's gone, Saemus stares at the empty waterskin in his hands and tries to think of something to say.

"You should clean up and get dressed," Ashaad says, voice still devoid of emotion. "Your father will be looking for you."

Saemus nods wordlessly and sets to work.

It is work, too. What he'd taken for mud when he woke, he now recognizes for more than just mud, and cleaning it up isn't as simple as wiping it away. Much of it has dried, and every bit of if is a reminder of what happened. It takes a long time to scrub it all off, and Saemus spends all of it in mortified silence.

He'd hoped he would feel a little better once he was dressed, but he doesn't. The sick pounding of his heart doesn't slow, and his stomach refuses to unknot itself.

They pack up their scattered belongings in silence, not touching or talking. Saemus darts the occasional glance at Ashaad, but he's stone-faced each time, and he never once appears to look in Saemus's direction. After the third time, Saemus makes himself stop checking.

The only time Ashaad steps within five feet is when he retrieves his bedroll. Saemus is still crouched down gathering his notes back together--fortunately, only a few landed in the mud and all of those are legible enough to re-copy--and Ashaad has to come within arm's reach for at least a moment.

As he picks up the bedroll, something small tumbles out onto the ground. They both reach for it at the same time, then freeze at the same time, staring at each other across it. Ashaad's expression hasn't shifted, but the fact that he appears frozen in place is telling.

Now if Saemus could just figure out what it was telling him.

Since he can't, he reaches out to pick the object up. It's one half of the small case that usually holds his pens, a boiled leather tube a little longer than his hand. Staring down at the half that fell out of the bedroll, Saemus wonders distantly what it will cost to replace it, because he's never going to be able to use this one again. He can't afford to blush every time one of his tutors asks him to get out a pen. Blush, or get hard. Saemus isn't sure which would be worse, though if everything else that happened had to happen, better a new pen case than...well.

He shakes himself and begins to wipe the case off, not looking at Ashaad. As he does, he says quietly, "Thank you."

Ashaad jerks, and his voice is harsh as he demands, "For what?"

"I'm glad you thought of this," Saemus says, raising the case a little to make it clear what he's talking about. He should look at Ashaad, but he can't make himself do it. "I would have let you do..." Anything. "If you had used your fingers, I wouldn't have tried to stop you."

"I know," Ashaad snaps.

Saemus tries not to flinch, he really does, but he can't quite control it. "I'm sorry." At least his voice doesn't shake.

"Do not-" Ashaad's voice breaks in the middle, and that does pull Saemus's head up, because Ashaad doesn't lose control like that. Not when he isn't drugged.

Ashaad's face gives nothing away, and his voice is toneless as he says, "Do not apologize for my lack of control."

Saemus stares at him. " _Your_ lack of control? I'm reasonably sure you weren't the one begging and whining."

"You were poisoned," Ashaad says. A frown creases his forehead for a moment, aimed at a small patch of intact mushrooms. "I should destroy all of this."

"And you weren't poisoned?" Saemus says, then wants to clap his hand over his mouth. He doesn't want to talk about this, Ashaad doesn't want to talk about this, so why are they talking about it? They can't undo what happened; all that's left is to accept the consequences.

One of those consequences is, apparently, that kneeling on the ground while looking up at Ashaad will make Saemus remember certain moments from this afternoon that really aren't conducive to a rational conversation. He flushes and pushes the memories away.

"I should have had more control," Ashaad is saying, expression blank once more. "You resisted it when I did not. You would have held your ground, had I not undermined it."

"Look," Saemus says, bracing himself, "it wasn't your fault. We were both poisoned, but you got a much higher dose than I did." At least at first, but he doesn't say that aloud. He doesn't want to get diverted by the memory of licking Ashaad's chest. "And I didn't fight it as well as you seem to think, because I wanted it. I wanted you. I've wanted you for a long time."

"I held you down."

"You think I didn't want that?" Saemus demands, because he might as well make this conversation as humiliating as possible. "You think it's never once crossed my mind what that would be like? In three _years_? This isn't the way I wanted it to happen, but there's no part of what we just did that I wouldn't have done sober."

Ashaad regards him impassively. Silently.

Saemus looks away. "Let's just blame the mushrooms and go."

He rises to his feet and only then realizes he's still clutching the pen case. Waving it in Ashaad's general direction, he adds, "I just wanted to say thank you, all right? I'm glad one of us wasn't an idiot."

He grabs one of the rags from the pile under the table and wraps it around the thing, then shoves it into the bottom of his bag. Why bother cleaning it when he's just going to throw it away later?

The hand on his arm startles him so badly he jerks away instinctively. Ashaad's expression is no longer blank, but Saemus can't read it.

"I did not think of it this afternoon," Ashaad says.

"You did," Saemus starts to argue, wondering if Ashaad's memory was affected by the mushrooms.

"I did not think of it," Ashaad repeats, each word slow and precise, "this afternoon."

Saemus opens his mouth, then closes it again, trying to think around the pounding of his heart. Ashaad can't possibly mean what Saemus heard. It's just the same stupid hope he's felt for years, fooling him into misinterpreting Ashaad's words. "I don't understand."

"You do," Ashaad says. He takes a step closer, and Saemus backs up. Thinking won't get any easier for having Ashaad in arm's reach, but his mouth has gone completely dry and his words have dried up with it.

"Before we were attacked," Ashaad says as he steps forward again, "you asked why I would bring such a large pack on a trip of less than a day."

Saemus backs up one step, but when he tries to take a second, his heel hits the stone wall of the cave. He pries his tongue off the roof of his mouth and answers Ashaad's question, even though it makes no sense. "I did."

"I am leaving Kirkwall."

Despite everything, that hits Saemus like a blow. "Forever?"

"Yes." Ashaad takes another step, so there are only inches between them. "There is no place for me in the Qun, and no place among the other Tal-Vashoth here."

Saemus realizes his mouth is hanging open and shuts it with a snap. "The _other_ Tal-Vashoth?"

"I hope to find a place elsewhere," Ashaad says, ignoring the question. He's looming over Saemus, but it isn't fear making Saemus dizzy. "And I had planned to ask if you would come with me."

The stone wall is cool and solid against Saemus's palms, grounding him as he tries to make sense of the words. He's frozen not so much from indecision as incomprehension.

Ashaad cups his cheek, thumb brushing his lower lip. "You seem at times no more connected to this place than I am, but perhaps I was wrong."

That breaks Saemus's paralysis. He drops his pack to grab Ashaad's hand in both of his, pressing it harder against his cheek. "You're not wrong. And I can't believe you thought you had to ask if I'd want to go with you."

If he were tall enough, he would kiss Ashaad, but the best he can do is kiss his palm.

"I leave now," Ashaad says, taking his hand back very gently. "I meant to give you time to return home and pack whatever you might want, but that time is gone."

Saemus nudges his pack where it rests against his foot and puts his hands on Ashaad's chest. "I already have the things I want."

The noise he makes when Ashaad picks him up is undignified, but he barely notices. He's too busy wrapping his arms around Ashaad's neck and his legs around Ashaad's waist, and then he's too busy kissing Ashaad until they're both breathless.

Saemus tilts his chin down to break the kiss without letting go. "When you said we were leaving now," he says, starting to smile, "exactly what did you mean by 'now'?"

**Author's Note:**

> I'm playing a little fast-and-loose with Qunlat, because the wiki page doesn't have a lot of words that fit this story, but I hope I at least made it believable.
> 
> Kost: peace (and does seem to often be used as a verb, not just a noun, as in Fenris's initial greeting to the Arishok: "Arishokost. Maraas shokra. Anaan esaam Qun.")  
> Parshaara: enough  
> Maraas kata: Nothing is ended. (which I choose to re-interpret as "I'm/We're not done.")  
> Ebasit parshaara: That's enough. (because you know what word isn't in the wiki? "stop")  
> Na'thek: based on context, possibly "As you wish." (or so says the wiki)


End file.
